


the story of us

by CapnWinghead



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnWinghead/pseuds/CapnWinghead
Summary: Sir James Barnes is offered a post in the Kingsguard, a position most held in high esteem. Unfortunately, James has spent most of his life harboring resentment towards the castle. When he finds out he'll be guarding the newly crowned King Samuel, the post is a lot harder to turn down.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 91





	the story of us

**Author's Note:**

> For day 7 of AU August. Prompt: Royal.
> 
> This is an idea I had a vague concept of for a while. That thing would've been HUGE. I managed to restrain it to something under 10k words. I really hope you all enjoy it!

James Barnes didn’t have a lot of memories from childhood.

He preferred it that way.

If asked, he could recall a few things here or there. Days riding horseback through the woods with his father, the pride on his face. Hanging the washing outside with his mother, the scent of the clean spring air. Jumping into puddles with Steve in the rain, the mud squishing between his toes. However, there weren’t always good memories.

He’d never forget one day spent in the market playing around with the other kids. He’d been eight years old, having run off to give his mother time to shop. He’d just tagged Steve when he spotted a kid standing off to the side. He had dark skin and bright brown eyes, watching them play with a sad look on his face. James ran just out of Steve’s reach and came to stand in front of the kid.

“Hi, I’m James. You wanna play?”

The kid’s eyes widened and he looked around for a moment before asking, “Really? You want to play with me?”

“Well, yeah. Why not?” He scratched at his nose, checking to make sure Steve wasn’t getting close again. “It’s always more fun with more people.”

“Okay, yes. I will play with you.” His words were clipped, polished in a way James never heard when anyone else spoke. But whatever, tag was tag. He grabbed the kid’s hand, dragging him behind a nearby apple cart.

“Okay, Steve’s it, he’s that blond kid. You just gotta make sure he doesn’t get close to you,” he explained watching as the kid nodded eagerly. “Cool, I think we’ll be good here.”

They hid behind the cart for a while. James asked, “What’s your name?”

“Sam,” he replied. “My dad’s—” he started to say when the cart moved and Steve appeared, reaching out for them.

James let out a shout, grabbing Sam’s hand and pulling him away. A laugh burst out of him as he hurried to keep up with James. Weaving in and out of shoppers, earning a few disgruntled looks that they laughed off, Sam’s hand tight in his. Then James tripped over a heavy bag of barley, dust from the bag and the street misting the air and sticking to his clothes. They coughed, stumbling a bit.

A hand touched James’ back and he cursed. “Oh, come on, Steve.”

But when he turned around, he didn’t find Steve. A big man with silver shining armor and bright red hair sneered down at him. He reached for Sam and James stepped back, pushing Sam behind him.

“Who are you?”

The man’s lip curled as he reached out past James and pulled Sam away from him. A handmaiden stepped in, gathering Sam in her arms and dusting him off with quiet tutting. The man gripped James by the front of his shirt, lifting him up as he peered into his face. His eyes were bright green and piercing, the threat clear.

“What’s your name, boy?” he demanded.

“Why should I tell you?”

“We weren’t doing anything,” Sam said to the handmaiden, his voice shaking. “We were just playing.”

“Leave the boy alone,” she said softly. “The prince hasn’t been harmed.”

The man looked from Sam to James before tossing the boy to the ground with a grumble. James landed hard on his back, coughing as the breath was knocked out of him. He twinged his wrist on the landing. He sat up, watching as Sam was pulled away wordlessly. His eyes met James’ wide with apology.

As they disappeared into the castle, James stared down at his hands, covered in dirt and dust.

* * *

_Twenty years later_

Blood dripped down James’ temple, slowly staining his tunic.

The knuckles of his right hand were swollen, bruised and bloodied. His leg bounced repeatedly in the chair, his heavy boots sounding on the glossy wooden floors. Sat in a chair that cost more than the house he’d grown up in, the crushed red velvet plush and sinking beneath his fingers. He leaned back, then leaned forward restlessly, gnawing on a thumbnail.

He didn’t know why he was here.

He was a screw up. He wasn’t exactly the perfect knight, but he’d never tried to be. What was the point? Being an excellent marksman, bowman or swordsman didn’t mean a damn thing when it was your time to go. James didn’t place a lot of value in being the best.

It hadn’t saved his father’s life.

Still, he’d done most everything he was supposed to. Followed in his father’s footsteps into knighthood. Became proficient in sword fighting, excellent in marksmanship, skilled in strategy, complete rubbish at geography. Terrible at teamwork and downright shit at following orders. When he’d lost his left arm in the war against Latveria, it had been the end of his military career. He couldn’t imagine why he’d been summoned to the castle.

He’d been down in the dungeons earlier when the page had come to fetch him.

Earlier that day, he’d been placing bets against Hermann that he didn’t intend to pay out on. When the big guy took a swing at him, James swung back. His iron prosthetic hit a lot harder than a bare fist. Put Hermann on his back and started a bar fight when Hermann’s friends joined in. If the royal page hadn’t showed up, James was pretty sure he would’ve spent his night in the dungeons.

He still might.

Now, he sat outside the throne room, staring up at the vaulted ceilings and very much aware that his father had given his life to this castle and James had never been this far inside of it.

The doors opened and James slowly climbed to his feet, following the page inside. The large hall was lined with glossy wood floors, stained glass windows casting shades of color across the honey colored wood. James’ boots echoed loudly as he crossed, a nervous quelling in his stomach. The royal guard stood at attention, staring blankly ahead as he neared. Even Steve ignored him.

Queen mother Darlene sat poised, regal as ever in dark red silk, spirals of gold lining her wrists. In the center, the King sat on his throne.

Sam.

James stopped in place, a knot in his throat. He’d done his best to ignore what went on in the castle after he lost his arm for the throne. He was still a knight in name, but he kept to posts that kept him far away from the grounds. Making rounds to outer villages, courtesy trips to outer kingdoms. He’d been gone for the past year and a half. Surely, he would’ve heard if King Paul had passed.

Apparently not.

The King sat stiffly in his chair, his face impassive. There was no sign that he was grieving, or that he ever had. Then again, James had heard from the others that Sam had a heart of stone. That he never smiled, never laughed, and he certainly never cried. He didn’t warm to his staff, but he remained civil. He said nothing beyond a simple “thank you” when treated with favors or gifts.

When James allowed himself to think of that day all those years ago, he remembered a smile like the first rays of sunlight.

Now, he shoved the memory down, stopping a few feet from where the royal guard stood.

When no one spoke, he did. “You,” his voice gave out, his eyes catching on Sam’s face. Had it really been twenty years? He cleared his throat, his gaze trailing off to the stained-glass windows. “You requested to see me.”

It was silent until one of the guards cleared their throat. James looked over, catching Steve staring at him pointedly. “Er, your highness,” James added.

Sam’s chin rose, his eyes focused on a point in the distance before he looked to his mother. She crossed her legs, her eyes piercing through him. “You are the son of George Barnes, correct?” He nodded, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “You were knighted?”

“Yes, your highness.”

She looked to Sam, her words nearly too quiet for James to hear. “You are sure about this?”

Sam’s expression gave nothing away. He hadn’t looked at James once since he’d entered. Disconcerted, he suddenly became very aware of his scuffed boots and the untucked, ratty tunic he was wearing. He straightened, forcing his eyes forward.

“Very well,” the Queen mother said quietly. She returned to James. “My son is engaged to be married.

It threw James off guard. “Congratulations,” he said awkwardly.

The Queen mother’s brow rose. “With this being a political alliance, there have already been threats on his life.”

The words cut through James like a blade. “I haven’t – I haven’t done anything.”

Finally, Sam’s eyes cut to him, his brow furrowed. A flash of something soft, strangely reminiscent of pity before it quickly faded. The Queen mother paused briefly. When she spoke again, her voice was somewhat kinder.

“That is not why you have been asked here. I do not believe you had anything to do with it.” She folded her hands on her lap. “My son will need protection for the months leading up to the wedding.”

If possible, James was even more confused. “You want me to be the Kingsguard?” There were countless worthier candidates. Doubtless many that would actually want the job.

“The would-be assassins will be expecting one of our royal guards. They seem to be aware of the way they operate.” She stared down at him, her eyes fierce. “You do not move like one of the royal guards. Even so, you are a very talented knight. I want someone that sees things differently.”

James didn’t understand it. Steve was standing right there. He’d trained his whole life for this kind of post and it was being given to James? Because he’d gone through years of training without any of it sinking in? The Queen mother wanted a dirty brawler looking after her son?

Someone that hadn’t even been fit to befriend him when they were children?

The Queen mother held his gaze, waiting for an answer. What could he say? His father had given his life to this castle. And he’d paid for it.

James had followed him in every other way that mattered.

“When do I start?”

* * *

The post came with a new uniform.

New chainmail and armor, a long, thick red velvet cape and leggings of which he didn’t want to know the cost. Steve had given him a lot of flak over it, teasing him about becoming a responsible member of society again. James simply shrugged. It wasn’t as if this was a dream job.

The past few weeks, James had only learned how to spend hours on end in silence.

Sam went about his day’s activities with little fanfare. Breakfast was brought to him in the mornings, he went to meetings, he had lunch, he hosted forums for the public, he had dinner, he went to bed. His schedule rarely wavered from those activities. It seemed impossible for an assassin to attack him when he was so heavily monitored.

Still, James remained vigilant. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do.

Except watch Sam.

The King was as stoic as they said. He never seemed to express any emotion aside from vague surprise when anyone did something he wasn’t expecting. Diplomatic and fair, no one ever seemed to get upset with Sam or angry. Sam simply didn’t inspire it. He was a mannequin.

James often envied that.

James couldn’t help making enemies wherever he went. With a smart mouth and a temper that could rival wildfire, he never knew when to quit or when to shut up. Luckily, he had the fists to back it up or he wouldn’t have made it this far. His father had tried to train it out of him, teach him the discipline to channel all that rage into skill. But he hadn’t had enough time before his passing.

So, James had remained the angry little boy that never learned when to back down. He’d been told that his face was too expressive and that every emotion could be read in every line of his face. 

* * *

Being King didn’t mean making trips to the courtyard, but Sam had wanted to go anyway.

James took a few guards with him, intending to ride horseback beside Sam’s carriage. Instead, Sam had asked to walk.

James dismounted, striding towards him angrily. “Are you insane? You realize it’ll be harder to protect you that way.”

Sam simply stared at him. “I don’t want to ride down there in a giant pumpkin. I want to see the people and talk to them, one on one.”

“It’s too dangerous,” James insisted, aware that the other guards were staring at him wide eyed.

“I trust the people.”

James’ eyes hardened. “I don’t. Let me do my job.”

“Let me do mine.” And there, just for a second, a glimmer of annoyance in Sam’s eyes. So brief, James was almost sure he’d imagined it. “You work for me, Sir Barnes.”

Then he moved past, his posture perfect as always. In his traveling cloak, his coronet glinting in the sunlight. James stared after him, feeling a strange twinge of excitement in his blood.

The King was not entirely impassive.

As he moved through the square, Sam was gifted with several things. Flower crowns, fresh pastries, even a chicken. It clawed the hell out of James’ arms, wings flapping panically spreading feathers everywhere. Spitting them out, James hurried to pass it on to another guard, wiping at his face. The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked briefly before he focused his attention on thanking the gift giver.

Curiously, the children all flocked to Sam excitedly. He stopped for every single one of them and listened intently to their stories. He answered thousands of their questions and, in all of it, he never seemed the slightest bit frustrated. He treated each of them with the respect paid to their elders, with a softness to his face and a gentle tone that James hadn’t seen or heard from him before.

He found himself sitting nearby and watching as Sam told stories.

The children gathered around, utterly enraptured as he moved his hands gracefully painting pictures. The deep tone of his voice waxed and waned as he neared the climax of the story. Even James found himself getting wrapped up in the magic of it all. Mostly, he found himself ensnared by the way Sam’s face slowly opened up, drawn in by the wonder and excitement in Sam’s eyes as he spun the tale.

Sam had been in the middle of telling the legend of the Iron Fist when James caught sight of a man hovering nearby, hiding just out of sight behind a vegetable stand. With annoyance, James weaved through the children, storming towards the man. His eyes widened as James neared, hands coming up in surrender.

“Who are you?” James demanded, touching his sword belt.

“No one, sir. I just came to see the King.” The terror in his eyes seemed genuine, his body shaking subtly as he stood before James.

Then he made a crucial mistake.

His arms rose high enough to reveal a glint of silver in his waistband. James’ eyes fell to it, quickly cutting to the man’s face again. The fear gave way to rage. He reached for the dagger, charging forward. James snagged his wrist, pushing past the sharp flash of fire as the blade cut into his forearm. James slammed the man’s wrist into the stone wall, sliding backwards and using his weight to knock the man into the barrier. The dagger clambered to the ground where James kicked it away.

Two of the other guards came rushing over at the commotion. James threw the man to the ground with a grimace, pulling out his handkerchief as warm blood dripped down his arm.

“Take him to the dungeons. He tried to kill the King,” he bit out, wrapping his arm messily.

When he returned, Sam’s eyes briefly met his, his face closing off as he stared. James didn’t know what Sam was looking for, but he nodded all the same. Sam’s eyes softened before he returned to the children.

After dinner that night, James walked Sam back to his quarters.

He said his farewell, starting to head off when Sam quietly said, “You are fit to return to your post tomorrow.”

It sounded like a question and James turned around. Sam’s face was unreadable, his hand posed on the door handle. “What?” James asked and Sam’s brow rose. “Your highness,” he added.

“You are well enough to return to your post tomorrow? You have not been injured?”

James’ mouth opened and closed wordlessly. “I – I’m fine, sire.”

Sam cocked his head to the side, studying him doubtfully. Finally, he opened the door to his quarters, stepping back and gesturing for James to follow him inside. Which he did with a sigh.

He followed instruction to sit down at the table, setting his arm on the wood. Sam reached out, tensing briefly, his temple pulsing as if he was steeling himself. Then he reached for James’ sleeve, rolling it up. James’ handkerchief was still holding tight, though it was now soaked through. He’d planned to wrap a bandage around it when he got home.

Tutting, Sam pulled out a small box. He rummaged through it for a moment, pulling out a roll of bandages.

“You don’t have to do that,” James began.

“You were protecting me, were you not?” he asked pointedly, his eyes sharp as they cut to James’.

James found it hard to breathe in the face of such focus. “It’s my job,” he said quietly.

Sam lowered his eyes, focusing on the task at hand. He cleaned the wound and started in on the bandages. His hands were gentle, incredibly soft, not at all rough and calloused like James’. His fingers were light points of pressure on James’ skin, his touch appeared to burn as James warmed with the realization that this was the first time they’d touched in twenty years. His hands were still bigger than Sam’s.

“You missed the end of the story,” Sam said, starting the wrap.

James was startled out of his reverie. “What?”

“The end of the story.” The firelight bathed his skin in gold, creating an illusion of warmth in his gaze. Mesmerized, James stared at him in wonder for a few moments before his brain caught up.

“How does it end?”

“Sir Rand enters the cave and comes face to face with Shao Lao the Undying – the most ferocious dragon that ever lived. Armed with nothing more than his hands, he was at a loss for what to do.”

James was quickly enraptured again, leaning in closer. When he reached the end of the story where Rand punches his hand through the dragon’s chest, James veered back in his chair. “No way!”

“That’s the story!” Sam insisted, his face opening up, eyes bright. “He stole the dragon’s beating heart from his chest! That’s how he became the Immortal Iron Fist!”

“You’re talking magic?” James asked skeptically.

Sam laughed, the sound warming James to his core. The light in his eyes, the excited grin on his face, the earnestness in his voice, they washed over James leaving him breathless. His words caught in his throat and he simply smiled back.

“It’s magic,” Sam said, sitting back in his chair. “Is it any less believable than anything else in the world?”

“I don’t believe anything that can’t be explained.”

“I do,” Sam said gently, his gaze falling to the table.

His hands were still holding James’ arm, his touch gentle. His thumb traced lightly over James’ bandage a few times before he cleared his throat, straightening his spine. Putting himself away, just like that.

James watched with disappointment, standing from the table as Sam did. He walked to the door, searching for something to say. Anything that would put that light back in Sam’s eyes.

Instead, he settled on, “Thank you.”

“For the bandage,” Sam said gently.

“For telling me the end of the story.”

Sam’s eyes widened briefly in wonder. He nodded, a glimmer of a smile on his face. The door closed quietly behind him.

* * *

After that night, Sam told stories often.

To children in the square, to those nearby at dinners, to James in his quarters when there was no one else around. James liked those best, since they were just for him.

Stories about magical beasts and people that could do incredible things. Wolves that became people with sharp claws and teeth. Men that could turn to ice and to fire. Women that could shift and mimic others. Women that could rain hellfire, thunder and lightning down on the world below them.

He told so many stories and James never knew how he could remember them all.

He’d asked once, when he’d’ been spread out on Sam’s floor. If any servants or other guardsmen popped their heads in, they’d be appalled at his behavior. But, he’d been on his feet all day, his back was killing him, the plush rug was comfortable and Sam didn’t seem to mind.

“Where do you get all these tales, anyway?” he asked. Sam sat across from him, his knees pulled up as he stared into the fire.

“I like stories,” he whispered.

James peeked up at him, eying the somber look in his eye. Sam met his gaze, chewing on his lip as he realized he was being watched. It was a nervous tick James had never seen. It was almost exciting to see. He was willing to take the question back, to move onto something safer when Sam offered, “I wasn’t allowed out a lot when I was a kid. It wasn’t safe. I never got to play with other kids.”

James sat up, alert. This was it – he’d been so sure Sam hadn’t remembered that day when they were kids. “Why not?” he rasped. 

Sam’s voice was faint, James had to move closer to hear him. “It wasn’t safe, I couldn’t trust anyone outside of my family, I had to be protected at all times. I was kept inside a lot. I never got to see much of the world, so I read about it. I asked my parents for all the stories they knew, I asked my teachers, the other knights. Your father told me a lot of them,” he said softly, staring down at his knees. “It was almost like being a part of the world… hearing about it,” he finished, his brow furrowed in reproach. As if James would make fun of him for it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Sam’s eyes widened and he added “sire” to make Sam laugh. The sound encouraged him as he continued on. “There’s a lot out there. I haven’t seen all of it, but I’ve seen more than I ever thought I would as a kid. I’ve seen the outer villages, other kingdoms, lakes, rivers, waterfalls, mountains, you name it. There’s so much out there.”

Sam gazed at him, his eyes wide with curiosity. “There’s this city, Atlantis. Entirely underwater.” Sam leaned in with intrigue, the focus making James swallow nervously. “I didn’t believe it existed. I mean, if it did, how would you breathe? But I went anyway, just to see. The villagers around there all say they’ve never seen any sign that it’s real, but they said they saw a human man climb out of the water.”

“Really?”

James nodded. “I never saw him, but I was sitting on the beach one day when I saw a woman with blue skin and pointed ears. I watched her dive in the water. I don’t know why, but I followed her under.” He shook his head, lost in the memory. “It was beautiful. I followed as close as I could before my lungs started to give out. I wouldn’t have made it without help. I was still reaching for the top when I passed out. When I woke up, she was there. I think she was laughing at me,” he finished with a smile. His voice quieted as he looked to Sam. “I’ve never told that to anyone before.”

Something passed between them, an odd sort of tension. James wasn’t sure if it was bad, only that his skin felt tight, the heat from the fire getting to him. The space between them seemed to shrink with every breath, the crackling fire the only sound in the room.

James didn’t understand this strange urge to touch. It had only grown since that night Sam had patched him up. Sam kept to himself, his hands always tucked in his lap, locked together behind his back as he walked. He never touched anyone, even by accident.

And yet, he’d touched James that night.

He kept coming back to it, the feel of Sam’s hands on his. The softness of his skin, the warmth of his touch, the subtle strength of his grip. He couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel like on other parts of his body. Imagining the look on Sam’s face if James ever got the chance to touch him. He spent his nights awake wondering if Sam’s lips were as soft as they looked.

He couldn’t help but think he wouldn’t be having these forbidden thoughts if he hadn’t come to see Sam the way no one else got to. The way he was stoic and professional in his kingly duties, but gentle and kind around children. The way everyone flustered over a drop of wine on his cloak, but James had watched a small child get juice on Sam’s shirt during a hug and Sam had only smiled when he found the stain later. The way Sam’s smile was so incredible that James felt blessed to see it, to earn it. The way seeing it left James warmer than the hottest day of summer.

If James hadn’t gotten the chance to see these glimmers of the Sam he hid from the rest of the world, he wouldn’t be having these impossible thoughts. He wouldn’t keep imagining what it would feel like to touch Sam, to kiss him and hold him. He wouldn’t keep feeling his heart beat painfully fast in his chest, lightheaded and breathless, just _being around_ Sam.

Sam was watching him thoughtfully now, his eyes clear and honest. James’ breath caught, tracing every line of color in his iris. A thought washed over him, cold and jarring. “You’ll have plenty of time to see the world after you’ve married.”

Sam’s eyes shuttered. He nodded, leaning back and leaving James colder. “Right.”

“Do you know her well?” James asked, his chest painfully tight.

“We’ve never met.” James stared at him. “It’s not uncommon. My mother arranged it. The alliance will bring great things for both of our kingdoms.”

“And that’s it?” he asked roughly. “What about you? What about what you want?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, his tone firm and unwavering. “I will do what’s best for my kingdom. What I want is irrelevant.”

The words tore through James like the sharpest blade. “Sam, you can’t’ believe that,” he said weakly.

“These people are counting on me.”

“I understand that, but what about your happiness? Doesn’t that matter?”

He was pushing it. Sam may let him camp out in his room, let it slide that James rarely remembered honorifics and titles in his presence. He may let James get away with that but openly questioning him was another thing entirely. But hearing Sam talk about his life this way, as it had never really been his, it struck a chord with James. He hated it.

“No, in the grand scheme of things, it really doesn’t,” Sam spat, his eyes widening briefly with a flash of fear. It quickly passed, his voice tight. “Nothing I want has ever mattered. Why should it now?”

James stared at him, his breathing labored. He struggled for something to say, anything at all. “You could start now. Call it off, or, I – I don’t know.” He gestured helplessly, tugging at his hair. “Slow it down.”

“It’s too late.” Sam climbed to his feet, straightening his clothes reflexively. His back straightened as he turned away. “You should go.”

James licked his lips, wanting to say more but he recognized the signs of Sam putting himself away. He climbed to his feet, heading reluctantly for the door. “I am getting married in two weeks.” He turned his head, his face in profile. “I hope you’ll be there.”

James left without another word.

* * *

A few nights later found James escorting Sam to his quarters.

When they entered, there was a bath tub of steaming water in the center of the room. James’ face instantly flushed. He turned stiffly around, muttering his goodbyes. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Oh,” Sam said quietly. When James turned, Sam’s face was downcast.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, just,” he shifted his weight, an uncharacteristic nervous tick. He only seemed to let those slip around James. He wasn’t sure if that should concern him. “I haven’t told you a story in a while.”

Something tender swelled in James’ chest. He nodded with a smile. “Right,” he said gently. “I suppose I can stay for one. If that’s okay with you.”

Sam brightened. “Of course.”

The door closed, the heavy sound sending a strange thrill through James’ blood. He studied the wood respectfully as Sam began to undress. There was a stifled hiss and James turned around. Sam stood in front of the bath barefoot, struggling to slide his shirt off of his shoulders. The King’s garb was full of clasps that usually required two people to remove.

James took a careful step forward, his voice rough as he asked, “Need some help?”

Sam peeked over his shoulder at him. “Yes, please. I feel like I’m in a straitjacket.”

Laughing, James rushed forward. Stopping behind Sam, it took a few aborted motions before he allowed himself to reach out. He carefully untied one of the draws at Sam’s shoulder, undoing the clasp on his sides. His hand settled on Sam’s waist, earning a quiet intake of breath. He paused, his heart rate ticking up as Sam settled. Swallowing nervously, James tackled the tie beneath his arm. It came undone rather quickly, leaving James’ prosthetic hand on Sam’s bare skin. He shivered, the sight drawing a Reflexive apology.

“Sorry,” he murmured, carefully pulling his hands away before he lost the will to.

“It’s fine. Really,” Sam said, reaching for the tie on his trousers. James moved away as Sam added, “I never asked.

“My arm?”

“Yes. I was not sure if you wanted to talk about it.”

“It was a war, what is there to talk about?” he asked, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Saved a broadsword from slicing through my stomach. I wouldn’t have survived that one.”

Sam was silent. James risked a peek and nearly swallowed his tongue. Illuminated in firelight, Sam’s dark skin gleamed as if his body was made of gemstone. Smooth, appearing soft to the touch, his muscles tensing as he neared the tub. James was helpless to follow the curve of Sam’s spine, to the divots in his lower back, to the toned globes of his perfect ass.

His mouth dried out, his cock swelling in his trousers. Sam climbed into the tub, sinking beneath the water with a sigh. Hanging back, James searched for an excuse, any at all, to leave. Something that would get him out of this room so he could take care of his predicament.

“Uh, sire,” he rasped.

“Come here.” Sam peeked at him over his shoulder. He waited, brow furrowed when James didn’t move forward immediately. “Is something wrong?”

Shaking his head, James started forward, his hands clasped in front of his groin. He was half hard now, his cock pressed tight to his left leg as he awkwardly came to stand near the tub.

Sam eyed him amusedly, nodding towards the chair. “You may sit.”

Nodding jerkily, James sank down in the chair. This close, he could see Sam’s skin glistening from the water, droplets trailing down his chest into the suds thankfully hiding his cock. He’d never seen this much of Sam’s skin before; it was both a blessing and a curse. There was a scar on the cap of his left shoulder, a small circular burn on his right side beneath his arm, a thin scar on his right hand that didn’t look that old.

“So,” Sam mused, raising the cloth to his shoulder. It seemed a little difficult, clearly, he was a little stiff tonight. James didn’t dare ask if he could help. It ran the risk that Sam might agree to let him and if James started touching him, he’d never be able to stop. “I think I’ll tell you about the story of the phantom of Greymalkin.”

James leaned forward, settling in. It was easy enough to get lost in Sam’s voice, but the story was an interesting one. Sam weaves a tale of a young girl haunting a large mansion in a faraway land. Wandering through walls like a shadow haunting the inhabitants. Some believed she was trapped in the walls, tied to the house because she’d suffered some tragedy there. Others said she was free to leave; she simply chose not to because it was her home. Others, like James, believed it was just a ghost story.

“Everything you’ve seen, underwater cities and all, why is this any harder to believe?” Sam asked, his brow raised.

James watched with jealousy as a drop of water trailed down Sam’s left pec and down his toned stomach. Clearing his throat, James replied, “I grew out of ghost stories and fairytales a long time ago.”

“That makes me sad,” Sam replied honestly.

“It’s the happily ever after part,” he said honestly, scratching at his brow. “I don’t know if I believe in those anymore.”

Sam turned towards him, resting his arms on the edge of the tub as he gazed up at him. James really wished he wouldn’t; this close and James could smell the scent of lavender soap; he could feel the heat coming off of his skin. It only stoked the fire in his belly, his cock aching in his trousers. He held Sam’s gaze, his face warm, his hands clenched at his sides as he worried that he might do something stupid. Like give in and actually touch Sam.

He fought to keep a clear head. “You don’t believe you’ll have one?” Sam asked James blinked at him, his heart pounding in his chest. “A happy ending,” Sam clarified.

James licked his lips, answering honestly with a shake of the head. “After my dad… I stopped hoping for things.”

There was a wounded look in Sam’s eye, his breath catching. James wanted to take it back. He never wanted to put that look on Sam’s face. “I am so sorry.”

“Sam,” he began, cursing himself for the first time for forgetting the honorific. It kept a barrier between them, a constant reminder of his station.

“I am sorry for how he died and I am so sorry that I never told you in person.” James’ eyes widened in question.

“Why would you have?”

“I remember,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking sadly. “Of course, I do. You gave me so much. You were the first person that ever treated me like I was just a regular kid. And I just stood there while you got hurt.”

“You were just a kid.”

“I could have done something. I _should_ have done something, but I just froze.” His hands gripped the edge of the tub. “And after your father died to save mine… I just thought,” he stared into James’ eyes, “you gave me so much and all I did was take.”

James’ heart lurched in his chest, his hand covering Sam’s. “I never blamed you.”

“You should have,” Sam said, studying their hands. “I never tried again… after you. I let them lock me away here. Being around other people just gets them hurt.”

James sunk to his knees beside the tub, a knot in his throat. “I didn’t want that.” Sam’s eyes glistened, the sight made James’ chest tighten. The idea of causing Sam pain, even inadvertently, was too much to bear. “When I think about that day, I just remember how happy you were. You really think I spent twenty years hating you?”

Sam’s lashes fluttered, a tear rolling down his cheek. “All I want is for you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted,” James continued. Sam’s eyes spilled over and James reached up, wiping at his face. He tried for a laugh, “This is the opposite of happy. You get that, right?”

Sam laughed tearfully, leaning into his hands. Affection warmed James to his core. Sam looked like he belonged here. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you that. I spent years hating myself for what happened that day.”

“You should’ve told me. I thought you’d forgotten.”

“Why?”

“I was just a kid playing in the dirt. I didn’t think I made an impression.”

Sam’s eyes lit up, warm in the firelight. “I thought you were amazing. You were so… free. You didn’t care if you fell down, if you got hurt, if your clothes got dirty. I wanted to be like you. I still do sometimes,” he admitted, chewing on his lip. 

It was about then that James realized he should’ve removed his hands a long time ago. He should’ve never touched Sam at all. He should move.

He didn’t. 

“I can’t imagine what it’d be like if I just went after whatever I wanted.”

James licked his lips, watching Sam track the movement. The heat in his stomach spreads like wildfire, arousal singing in his blood. His voice grows husky in response, “I don’t go after everything I want.”

He nears, his thumb tracing over Sam’s cheek and drawing a shiver. The bathwater has gone cold but Sam’s so hot beneath James’ hands. His eyelashes flutter, his eyes widening as James nears. His lips part, a flicker of fire reflected in his eyes as James’ heart nearly beats out of his chest.

Like the fire in Sam’s eyes the night they’d argued. Sam was getting married.

_Oh god, what am I doing?_

Swallowing, James veered back, forcing his hands away. Sam stared at him in question. He didn’t appear angry, only confused. James wiped his clammy hands on his trousers, climbing to his feet.

“I, uh, I’ve gotta get home. I – in the morning – I’ll see you in the morning.”

* * *

James paced outside of Sam’s door for what felt like hours.

He’d thought about this countless times and settled on one course of action – he’d have to leave. In the days leading up to Sam’s wedding, he’d tried to imagine spending the rest of his days standing beside Sam and his new bride. Watching her grow to know Sam the way James did. Seeing her learn about all of his little quirks that James harbored like secrets. Watching her grow to love Sam and watching Sam slowly turn away from him.

He imagined the rest of his life slowly being forgotten.

On that morning, James forced himself through the door, closing it carefully behind him. He rested his head on the wood, gathering his strength. Perhaps waiting until the day before the wedding wasn’t the best, but he hadn’t had the courage before. He’d wanted to soak up as much time with Sam as he could. He let out a slow breath, striding towards Sam.

Sam grinned at him, sunlight streaming in through the window. “Good morning. I’ve been waiting for you.” 

A vice closed tight around James’ throat, stealing his breath. The look on his face draws Sam forward, his brow furrowed in concern. “James, what’s wrong?”

Swallowing thickly, James moved forward. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “James?” Sam asked warily. “What is this?”

“I must resign, sire,” he said, his voice cool and measured.

“Sire? James, stand up. Look at me.”

James ignored him, continuing on. “I am unfit to continue on as your Kingsguard. I must resign.” Sam moved forward, his hands reaching out. Squeezing his eyes shut, James turned away. “I am sorry, sire.”

Sam’s hands curled into fists by his sides. After several minutes, he asked, “Can you at least tell me why?”

James owed him that much at least. He forced his head up, staring into Sam’s eyes as he spoke. “I have fallen in love with my King.” Sam’s breath caught, his eyes wide. James’ voice grew stronger as he spoke. “I have been in love with my King for quite some time now. It has clouded by judgment and I find myself incapable of thinking logically when I am near you.”

Sam’s face softened. “James,” he said helplessly.

“You are a brilliant man with a kind heart and you deserve someone fit for a King. You deserve to be guarded by someone who does not wish to covet you for themselves. I cannot guard you to the best of my ability and the last thing I’d ever want is to let any harm come to you. So, I must take my leave.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “Please let me.”

Sam nods once, a pained look in his eye. “Alright.”

James’ breathing is loud in his ears, an ache in his chest like a chasm opening up behind his ribs. “Alright?” he repeated weakly. Sam nodded. James stood on shaky legs. He bowed his head once more. “Thank you, sire.”

Sam turned away from him, wrapping his arms around himself. James took one last look at him before turning around. “You’ll stay through tomorrow, right?” Sam asked.

James had planned to leave for Asgard that very night. But, for Sam, he would honor this request. He’d give Sam anything he asked. “Of course. It’s your big day.”

Sam returned to the window.

* * *

The next day, James put on his best clothes.

After resigning, he’d given back his uniform, the fancy armor, the expensive blades. He’d never had much use for the sword, but he’d miss the dagger. It was perfectly balanced, wonderfully sharp. He’d never find another like it.

He put on his best boots and tied his hair back with a ribbon. Sam had never seen James so much as use a comb, but for Sam’s wedding day, he would try. Besides, if it was to be the last Sam ever saw of him, he wanted to leave Sam with a good memory.

He walked the halls, so focused on keeping a level head that he didn’t’ notice the decorations lining the halls. Namely that there were none.

He entered the great hall to find the tables readied for breakfast and nothing else. There was a somber mood about, the knights eating quietly in silence. James looked around in confusion, quickly heading over to Steve.

“What the hell? Why aren’t they getting ready for the wedding?”

Steve frowned at him. “You didn’t hear? They called it off. Last minute. No one knows anything. The Queen mother is furious.”

James sank down onto the chair beside Steve. “Really?”

“The King put a stop to it, from what I heard.”

“Where is he?” James asked in a small voice.

“In his room, I‘d guess.” James stood up abruptly as Steve called out, “Aren’t you taking a trip?”

When James neared Sam’s quarters, Sir Parker was guarding the door. James strode right past him, slamming the door in his face and earning a disgruntled shout.

Sam was staring out the window, his back turned to the doorway. James moved forward, growing stronger with each step. Sam’s shoulders were strong, his posture perfect, appearing calm – if you didn’t know what to look for. If you hadn’t come to love the nervous flutter of his fingers at his sides, the slight shift of his weight, the signs that he was chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Perfectly poised, perfectly still, perfectly calm to anyone that hadn’t come to love him, the way James had.

As he neared, Sam spoke, “Did you know that my parents were arranged to be married?”

James came to stand beside him, his stomach twisting with nerves. He felt lightheaded and slightly sick. “No, I didn’t.”

“It was decided by their grandparents,” he said, a smile in his voice. “My father’s father and my mother’s father made an agreement before they’d even had children. My father came to love my mother. He said there was room in his heart for her.”

He turned towards James, his head lowered, arms wrapped tight around himself. “I had to break off the engagement.” He looked to James, his eyes bright and gleaming in the sunlight. “It wouldn’t be fair to her or – or to _me._ There isn’t any room in my heart because it’s already been filled by someone else.”

Joy bubbled up in James’ chest, a breathless smile spreading across his face. Sam returned it tentatively, with more feeling as James took his hand. He reached up, cupping Sam’s face gently. Sam turned into his palm, closing his eyes. When their lips touched, it felt like everything came into place. The warmth of the sunlight on his face, Sam’s lips soft and gentle against his, the fondness he’d shoved down for so long guiding the careful movement of his arm around Sam’s waist, bringing him in closer.

Pulling away, Sam touched their heads together. He pulled the tie from James’ hair and covered James’ hand with his own. Twining their fingers together, he pressed his lips to the back of James’ hand. James nosed into his throat, keeping him close. He marveled at the strange light filling his chest.

It felt a lot like hope.


End file.
